


J'aime le chien

by heeroluva



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Face-Fucking, M/M, Marathon Sex, Rough Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: When Iorveth is dosed with an aphrodisiac, he's lucky Geralt is there to help him through it.





	J'aime le chien

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



Geralt groans and gags again as he attempts to breathe through his nose as Iorveth fucks his face, chasing his own pleasure with little regard for Geralt’s comfort. The corners of his mouth sting and his jaw aches from the abuse.

"I’ve dreamed of this, Gwynbleidd,” Iorveth moans as his fingers knot tighter in the length of Geralt’s white hair, the stinging pain drawing a noise of protest from him. “Never did I think—” Iorveth breaks off with a cry as he sinks himself balls deep into Geralt’s throat, holding Geralt’s face tightly against his groin as he shudders with the force of his orgasm.

Unused to such treatment, Geralt’s throat convulses around the cock filling it, drawing a groan from Iorveth as his cock is unintentionally milked. Having had enough, Geralt shoves him away and coughs, nose wrinkling in distaste as the last of Iorveth’s release lands on his tongue.

Iorveth sprawls on his back, his cock still jutting out hard from his open breeches. Fingers curling around it as though it’s foreign to him, Iorveth says, “It is not enough.” One glazed green eyes turn towards Geralt, and Iorveth asks beseechingly. “What is this? Why do I burn so?” His eye narrows in suspicion. “What have you done to me?”

“After I was kind enough to let you fuck my face, that’s how you treat me? Truly I’m wounded.” Geralt’s words go mostly unheard as Iorveth curls over himself, his fists desperately pump at his leaking cock, and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

Geralt can’t say for certain what this is, but he has his suspicions. No matter the source, the results are the same: Iorveth could yank his cock for days, seeking an unattainable release and only serving to increase the fire in his blood until his heart finally gave out. Only the willing touch of another can quench the inferno within him. For the sake of his ass, Geralt hopes it’s one of the shorter lasting ones.

While this isn’t how Geralt had planned to spend his evening, he could think of far worse ways. He tries not to think too hard on the fact that he could have easily purchased a whore to service Iorveth and save himself the trouble, yet he did not. 

So far gone, Iorveth doesn’t notice as Geralt strips out of his armor, doesn’t notice the way he oils his fingers or the way he hisses when he reaches behind his body and slips his fingers inside to slick and stretch himself.

When Geralt shoves Iorveth’s hands away from his cock, Iorveth curses him, but groans as Geralt straddles him and slowly sinks his body down the length of Iorveth’s cock.

Teeth gritted, Geralt pauses when his ass rests against the leather of Iorveth’s pants, letting his body adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

Lacking Geralt’s patience, Iorveth rolls them so that he’s between Geralt’s spread thighs. Groans are pulled from them both as the position allows Iorveth to sink deeper. Wasting no time, Iorveth sets a brutal pace, his hips smacking against Geralt’s ass with each thrust of his hips. When Iorveth pushes Geralt’s legs up to his chest, the change in angle pulls a startled sound from Geralt as Iorveth’s cock slides along a spot in his ass that causes streaks of pleasure to shoot down his spine, his gut warming as his half-hard cock twitches and slowly fills completely.

Geralt’s orgasm when it hits, is unexpected, his body clamping down around Iorveth’s length. Iorveth groans at the increased tightness, but doesn’t stop his movements, fucking Geralt through his orgasm. It seems to go on forever, and when it finally ends, Geralt can do little but gasp for breath and hold on as Iorveth continues to plow his oversensitive body.

When Iorveth’s own orgasm hits, he seems to barely notice, the thrusts of his hips hardly faltering, but his eye is wild and blazing as he locks his gaze with Geralt.

“I never dreamed—I never dreamed—” Iorveth breaks off, unable to force the words out, and instead slants his mouth over Geralt’s in a desperate kiss that Geralt eagerly returns. 

Geralt loses track of how many orgasms Iorveth pulls from his body, of how many times Iorveth spends himself in or on Geralt. Dawn is beginning to seep in between the cracks of the shuttered window when Iorveth passes out on top of Geralt after his latest orgasm.

With a groan, Geralt shoves Iorveth off him, smirking as he lands in the worst of the mess they’ve made on the bed. “After all the work it took to save your ass, this is the thanks I get? How ungrateful.” Glancing down at his half-hard cock, Geralt grumbled. “Couldn’t even get me off one last time before you passed out, could you?”

Geralt smiles though as he rises to clean himself off, the amount of fluids he’s covered in is far from pleasant. His entire body aches, but Geralt savors it. Smirking as he drops the wet rag on Iorveth’s chest, Geralt climbs into bed beside him, pulls the blanket over himself, and falls quickly into sleep.

When Geralt wakes again, it’s late afternoon, and Iorveth is still dead to the world beside him, not having moved from where Geralt had left him.

Climbing out of bed, Geralt takes a piss, eats the stale bread and cheese left on Iorveth’s plate, and pulls on his armor before heading towards the door.

“Running away, Gwynbleidd?”

Pausing, Geralt looks over his shoulder to find Iorveth propped up on his arm, his face twisted into its usual mocking sneer, a mask Geralt had long since realized. Geralt gives a shrug, because it’s entirely possible. “I have a bounty to claim.”

Iorveth makes a sound low in his throat that could have been amusement or derision. “You’re such a bleeding heart. Would you have done this for anyone?”

“No, not just anyone.”

Iorveth’s mouth falls open, his eye going wide, clearly not having expected that answer, and says nothing as Geralt walks out the door.


End file.
